The Impossible Mission Affair
by The Lonesome Rose
Summary: They might be two completely different organizations, but the Impossible Mission Force and U.N.C.L.E weren't on the opposite sides. THRUSH might have done more than steal information when one of the IMF agents has vague recollections which points to a veiled past. Question is, can they trust him?
1. Chapter 1 Never Trust a Flamingo

**Somewhere in New Orleans**

Music blared from the speakers, occasional bursts of static cutting in on the song as the partiers—some partially drunk and others barely able to stand—swayed in time. The bartender, a jovial rounded fellow bedecked in a silk jack and crown on head waded through the sea of costumed people. "Another round on the house! On Mardi Gras it's free till the stores run dry!"

The crowd roared in approval. A number of them broke away to the bar where a single barkeep—a scrawny adolescent— looked ready to bolt.

The bartender singled out one of the quieter patrons who wore a mask of cynicism and was still lazily nursing his mug. "Still on your first? Another! You won't go back home and say you weren't treated well in my tavern!" he snatched the mug.

"No really I'm fine" the patron protested.

"Nonsense. If you leave here steady on your feet, I haven't done my job. Mardi Gras after all!" he clapped the young man roughly on the shoulder and ambled back towards the bar.

The young man waited until the bartender had disappeared into the crowd before pulling out a pocket radio. "Open Channel D"

"How's the party?" came the casual voice of Napoleon Solo. "Haven't gotten yourself drunk yet, I hope. I've heard how those backstreet parties end."

"And never well in your case" retorted Illya. "Is that why Mr. Waverly wanted you to stay behind the scenes?"

Napoleon cleared his throat indignantly. "Has your informant made contact yet?"

"No" Illya scanned the crowd. "Unless he's less than sober, I don't see anyone to fit the bill yet. You sure he'll be in here?"

"Positive"

"Well he'd better be quick about it. I can't keep p this façade much longer when everyone else around me is walking drunk." He eyed a particularly boisterous couple at the table nearest him who were slopping wine on table rather than in glass while they poured it. The woman caught him looking and giggled, topping her glass in his direction, batting her eyes at him. Illya coughed loudly and adopted more of a slouch to his position.

"At the very least, you must be enjoying you UNCLE-made costume" said Napoleon in taunt.

"Shut up" Illya muttered. He'd hated this gaudy shirt the minute he'd been told to wear it. Neon green and orange polka-dotted enough to make him nauseous. Add a fuchsia jacket and yellow bowtie and he really felt like an idiot. Napoleon had cracked up almost to tears when he'd first put on the full ensemble. "Should've been you in it."

"But I can't pull off the look as well as you."

Illya huffed in aggravation, breaking off the connection with promise of retribution for himself later. _Oh yes Napoleon will pay. Let him play the UNCLE lab rat next time. _He adjusted his collar, fingers brushing the hidden speaker; Napoleon may still be able to hear him and laugh at his discomfort but at least Illya didn't have to hear it.

His eyes panned over the crowd again, on the lookout for someone sober or feigning drunkenness before finally coming to rest on a flamingo who was in the arms of a buccaneer.

She was laughing, her face close to his, speaking in hushed tones as her free hand was submerged in his suit pocket.

Illya straightened, focusing on the small capsule that peeked through the woman's finger's as she drew her hand out. _And there's the contact._ "There's a situation. The contact just got hit by a female agent. THRUSH probably." He didn't have to open contact to know what Napoleon or even Mr. Waverly would say: _"Well go and get it from her!_" "I'm going in." He rose just as the flamingo and buccaneer parted ways; and the THRUSH agent slipped the capsule into her bodice. _Oh hell. _He'd never get it now. Illya put on a brave face while making his way towards the THRUSH agent.

She caught his eye; face hardening ever so slightly as she watched his advance.

"This dance, Madame?" he said, putting on charm he prayed was half as good as Napoleon's.

She smiled seductively. "I was waiting for you to ask. Have you been waiting in the corner this whole time?"

"For lack of a dance partner." He pasted a genteel smile on his face as they swayed to the music.

"You've had several too few drinks." Her voice took on a veiled warning.

Illya smiled amiably. "I have a high metabolism. After a while, I don't show any of the effects." He knew her game. _And I'll play it right back. _"Seems as though you haven't found enough time to enjoy yourself either. Surely there are plenty of fine partners who would get your drinks. Your pirate friend perhaps?"

"He couldn't stay," she said with a pout closing the distance between them. "But you will?"

Illya strained away from her. "I-eh might stay a bit longer."

"Oh, good" her hand drifted up from his shoulder to play with his collar . "You're _much_ better company."

He cast a covert glance at the others milling around them and wondered how many more of them were THRUSH agents.

"But three's a crowd" she purred, having found the concealed communicator.

"Hand over the capsule," he hissed. "Do you really think THRUSH can get away with this? Napoleon…Napoleon, backup now!"

She plucked the bug from his collar and dropped it to the floor to smash with her heel. "Ethan, we've got a competitor on our tails," she said into her own concealed communicator. "Liability"

Illya tore away from her, one hand going for his gun. "The capsule NOW"

"I'm afraid we'll be taking that…_and_ you" someone came up behind Illya to grab his neck in a firm hold. "Shame you didn't enjoy the party more," said a male voice in the UNCLE agent's ear.

"Give…me…that…capsule"

"Jane, make him sleep."

"With pleasure"

A sharp prick to his neck and Illya knew no more.


	2. Don't send him off on his own again

**Chapter One**

"_Don't send him off on his own again"_

Whatever he'd been dosed with had given him a heck of a headache to wake up to. Illya cracked open his eyes, shying away with a suppressed groan when the glare increased his misery. _Morning? Afternoon?_ It was difficult to determine. Moving his arms, he discovered they were tied wrists together and suspended towards the headboard. He moved his legs, also tied together. _This is going to take a bit of luck._ He forced his eyes open all the way to take in his surroundings. It appeared a low-scale hotel room if the décor and arrangement were anything to go by- likely gotten as a last minute escape. There was only one bed. At the far end of the room near a window was stacked cases of high technological equipment, he guessed. A laptop was open on a dingy two-seater table with an agent tapping away on it. Illya's eyes roved to the nightstand where the capsule lay. Emptied. _Nothing like a little THRUSH interference to make the party and take the microdots I was after._

"So, awake at last? It's about time you told us who you were."

Illya turned to the voice. The same one person that had grabbed him last night, judging by the voice. "Are you the one in charge here?"

The agent eyed him coolly. "I'll ask the questions here. Benji" he called to the agent behind the computer "have you got an ID on this agent yet?"

"Nothing yet" said Benji. "Whoever he is, he isn't in our files, Ethan. Even facial recognition doesn't bring up anything."

"Alright, so who are you?"

"You aren't THRUSH, are you?"

"Thrush? What's the bird got to do with anything?"

_THRUSH would've recognized me by now. Have they recruited someone new or is this a different affiliation? Napoleon should be out searching now…_

"Check him for a license? Agent's got to have something on him besides that awful get-up."

"Believe me, it wasn't my first choice either."

"I'm still not getting an ID on him, Whatever agency he's with covered up his tracks"

"Or he's a terrorist" the agent snatched up a gun. "Right now: Who are you? What organization sent you? How many more agents are out there looking for you?"

"You don't need the gun" said Illya, annoyance covering up his unease as he stared up at the barrel. "Unless your little group here is the terrorists."

A low grin spread on the agent's face. "Maybe. But we're not the bad guys here. Name. NOW" he gestured with the gun.

Illya frowned at the gun. "Illya Kuryakin. I'm with the organization UNCLE which sent me to make contact with the civilian and get the capsule but your agent beat me to it. We'll offer you a high price for the information in the capsule"

Ethan lowered the gun. "Leaves something to be desired from your organization if your agents aren't prepared for all obstacles. Especially the attractive ones. UNCLE you said?"

Illya gave a terse nod, groaning when he heard his pocket radio signal. _Now he gets around to calling._ "If you wouldn't mind…"

Ethan raised a brow, half amused. "Your partner has been calling every half hour. Presumably the associate of a terrorist wouldn't care as much." He retrieved the radio and offered it to Illya.

"Late as always, Napoleon"

"You cut off the conversation, didn't bother leaving a forwarding address, don't answer your radio when I've been calling and you call _me_ the late one?"

Illya shifted uncomfortably. "I've been a bit tied up."

"That's the last time you're going out without adult supervision." Napoleon's tone grew more serious. "THRUSH?"

"I don't think so."

Ethan snatched the radio. "If you want your friend, come by yourself. We're at the hotel on the main boulevard about ten miles from the bar. There'll be an agent in the lobby to lead you up." He cut the connection and handed the radio back before speaking into his own communicator. "Brandt, you watch for a foreign agent—some Napoleon from UNCLE—and bring him up to the room." Getting an affirmative, presumably, he turned back to Illya. "Now while we wait for your partner, tell us a bit more about your assignment and this UNCLE."

"Gladly" he sighed with relief as his bonds were undone. "Have you by chance a spare shirt so I can burn this one?"

Brandt took up position across from the door, not too close, and began thumbing through a copy of _The Louisiana Weekly_. Most of the drivel was on Mardi Gras- no surprise there. But really, did there need to be that much? _Overrated. If it wasn't a reasonable cover, I'd have said anywhere else. UNCLE. Why is that familiar?_ He knocked the title around his mind for a handful of moments in a vain attempt at recognition. _IMF's had no dealings with them and that THRUSH_… yes, that was familiar. Where the heck had he heard it? _THRUSH…THRUSH_… he closed his eyes, kneading his fists into his forehead. _Damn. Where was it? _

_A bird sketched in black against a white background was the first thing he'd noticed. Why a bird, he'd asked. It wasn't anything special either, just a common species. _

Brandt tried to coax the memory further. _It had to be before IMF. But when? Where?_ He smoothed the newspaper out, focusing on the tiny print that had begun to blur. _No, focus. Focus._ He blinked a few times. The words cleared. Mindless commentaries, advice column…he turned the page. The montage of vivid coloured pictures grabbed his attention. The dozens of outlandish costumes…he rolled his eyes, flipping the page again. _THRUSH…THRUSH_… another page of photos. But all he could focus on what that image of the bird. _Before IMF. Someone in the IMF? No, had to be someone outside._ Brandt threw down the paper, exhaling sharply. It was there; he just couldn't recall it. And that frustrated the heck out of him.

"Ahem"

He snapped his head up to see the man striding towards him. The rest of the lobby was empty so this had to be the man he was waiting for.

"The weather's unusually calm this for this part of the season but the" he cleared his throat "_recent kidnapping_ might make up for it."

"You're that other man from UNCLE Napoleon?" Getting a confirming, if reserved, nod in reply, Brandt headed for the stairs. He didn't like this being in the open. He could've sworn it felt as though someone had been watching him…

"So here you are. Last time UNCLE should let you out on your own." Napoleon had taken little concern for the IMF agents around them, who were watching the ensuring conversation with interest.

"You're one to talk" retorted Illya, who for one was not appreciating getting downgraded in front of these foreign agents. "I go out on the dangerous mission, right through THRUSH surveillance, while you stay at headquarters taunting me after _you_ had the nerve to volunteer me. _Oh yes, Mr. Waverly, Illya would love to get out in the high society with drunks in a seedy bar. He hasn't anything better to do while I have business with the pretty secretary. Let's add to his fun by making him wear the most hideous ensemble known to man._"

"I did _not_ say that."

Illya waved off the retort. "Close enough"

"I'm not finished with you," warned Napoleon with a threatening point before activating his radio. "Open Channel D, please. Priority for Mr. Waverly."

"Ah, come in Mr. Solo. Have you heard from Mr. Kuryakin yet?"

"I have"

"And the capsule?"

"Well we've almost got it. A rival organization got to it first so it's only a matter or leverage…"

"We haven't got it," interrupted Ethan. "The package Jane picked up was empty."

Napoleon reddened, muting the radio against Mr. Waverly's questioning, turning to face Ethan. "You mean you _haven't_ got the microdots?"

"Your partner must have them. He must've made the exchange before Jane did and pretended not to when he thought we were a rival group."

"Your agent made contact with him before I did," said Illya. "She has it and she didn't turn it in otherwise…"

"The contact made another deal," Ethan growled.

"Or a third agent approached him before we did" finished Illya. "An agent from THRUSH most likely"

"_Oh boy_…" Napoleon sank to the bed, unmuting the radio. "We, ah, lost the package, Mr. Waverly. It seems a little bird got to it before we could."


	3. New Plans, New Allies

**Chapter Two**

_New plans, new allies_

"This wasn't anyone's fault. We get trained to deal with it and sometimes we forget that there're other agents out there who beat us at our own games. It doesn't mean we're the weaker ones. We just try all the harder next time." Ethan paused, gauging everyone's reactions. Benji seemed wistful at best and the UNCLE agents appeared to be handling it well though. _Always wanted to give the corny prep talk._ "Maybe it wasn't us today but now we know, right? We know who we're after and can beat them."

"Well" Benji closed down his computer and began packing up his equipment "great 'go-get-'em' speech, Ethan. Looks great on paper, but, oh, um…inspiring" tripping over his words when his team leader watched him with interest. "Right, we'll definitely try harder. That's the important part: to just keep going and not let a little set-back throw us off. So what if they win now? We'll…"

"Benji…"

"We'll get them where it hurts: right at their own game when…"

"Benji!"

"What?"

"You're undermining my speech."

"Oh. Wow. Did I- you know I wasn't trying anything, team leader. Just trying to…" he caught Ethan's raised brow. "You know…just trying to…"

"Who's the leader here, Benji?"

"Yeah, I'll be quiet now."

Ethan chuckled to himself. _If all the IMF teams were half as lucky as the members in this one_

"I know no one else wants to say it, but what now?" said Napoleon. "We haven't got a lead on this contact. All correspondence was done through false identities, emails, and phone numbers that were purposely disposable. Though, I don't know, maybe your organization is better equipped for this than ours."

Benji shrugged. "We've got _decent_ technology."

"Decent?" Ethan couldn't hold back a laugh. "If anyone's got it, it's you, Agent Dunn. You can hack anything."

"He can get us that contact back?" Napoleon glanced at Illya, who gave a small nod in return. "Look like our best bet is joining forces. What do you say, work together to get that information back and share it with both our organizations?"

Benji raised his palms in submission. "Hey, no argument from me. Ethan?"

"Alright, here's the plan. We get back to base. Benji, your top priority is nailing this guy down. We'll all supply you with any and all information we can get our hands on. Illya…" he turned to the UNCLE agent "you and Jane both got a good look at the contact and maybe can help us narrow down the other agent who was there with you. We'll need you to help figure out what this guy looks like."

"You want me then Napoleon comes too."

"Alright, we'll find a place for him."

The door burst open; they all turned to see Jane there, gun in hand. "Ethan, we've got to get out of here _now_. Brandt's picked up some spies on our tail. There's no telling how long they've been following us."

"THRUSH spies most likely" said Illya, drawing his gun and going for the door.

"Where's Brandt now?"

"I left him keeping an eye on them and they weren't…" she stopped dead when several shots went off. "That's it; they know now."

The four agents—IMF and UNCLE both—headed for the door. Benji was grabbing as much of the equipment as he could carry. "Hey, little help here?"

"Jane, help Benji. Illya, you too. Napoleon, go help Brandt. I'll cover. GO!" Ethan yanked his gun from his belt and took up station in the doorway. "Brandt, how many of them are there?" he moved closer to peer over the railing. "Brandt, do you copy?" All Ethan could hear was the gunfire until it ceased abruptly. "Change of plan. We're going now. All of you carry what you can…and stay close behind me."

MIMIMIMIMI

"I think that's the last one." Brandt held the gun to the prone man on the floor a couple seconds longer before going over to examine the body. Crouching over it, he made a search through the pockets until he found the wallet which he flipped open to see an ID with the TRUSH symbol. He stared at the bird.

"A little unusual for a souvenir, isn't it?"

He shoved the wallet into a pocket. "I'm just trying to figure something out. Grab the wallets off those other two. Might be useful later."

"Good idea" said Napoleon, though he stayed where he was, still watching. "Have you had dealings with THRUSH before? The rest of your team seems to have never heard of them, but you do."

"I don't know. Something about it…I think I have, but I can't remember."

"Well when you do remember, telling the rest of us or at least my partner and myself would be useful considering that THRUSH is the one after us. Any information we have against them can be used to our advantage." _I should've asked Waverly to cross-reference William Brandt and clarify his background. The whole of the IMF force for that matter. Naw, I'll get Illya to do it. No way am I facing Mr. Waverly after earlier… _

Brandt was still staring vacantly at the THRUSH patch on one of the dead agents. "We should probably take those uniforms too, in case."

"Everything alright here?" Ethan surveyed the scene, a tense nod as though seeing his question already answered. He nudged the closest agent prone on the floor. "Dead?"

"They won't bother us anymore," said Napoleon, forcing down the discomfort at having killed enemy agents. _Self-defense_ he argued. _They were coming after me with intent to kill. I don't have to like it but I did my job. All these years in UNCLE and I still can't kill without regret._ He tried not to think of the brothers, fathers and husbands that were in the THRUSH uniforms that wouldn't be returning to their families. Maybe two of them were even partners like…

"Hey, alright?" Illya gave him a nudge. "They didn't get you did they?"

"Missed me by a mile. THRUSH agents couldn't hit a ten-inch bull's-eye if it were right in front of them."

"I take that as a yes." He noticed Brandt stripping an agent of his uniform and set aside his load to do likewise.

Why couldn't he be more like Illya- reserved and unemotional when he was caught in a firefight? He never had any second thoughts or mourned over the dead agents. Maybe it had been drilled out of him. Napoleon half-wished for the same. _He's the stronger of the two of us._

"We need to get out before the reserves come," said Jane around the armful of equipment she carried. "I wouldn't be surprised if they bugged our room… or one of us."

Benji yelped, shoving his load into his team leader's arms to frantically pat himself down head to toe, not missing a spot.

Ethan rolled his eyes, handed the armful back when the agent was done. "Bugged, huh?"

"Nope, I'm clean" said Benji with obvious relief. "Not sure about the rest of you though."

"Equipment in the van for that. Jane, Illya, you two take front with me."

"Make the call to Mr. Waverly and let him know we won't be checking back for a while." Illya passed by him deliberately, clearly pleased about the seating arrangement.

"And you can't because…?"

"We both know you're the favorite" retorted Illya coolly, jumping up into the front seat.

Napoleon muttered a curse against his partner as he took out his pocket radio. _He won't be happy to hear from me. Not at all. We've already botched up this mission. And throw going off minus leave to top it off? Yes, he'll be THRILLED…_


	4. Changing Tactics

**Chapter Three**

_Changing Tactics_

Gwen Rodgers had only been at UNCLE behind the scenes long enough to make a name for herself. She'd watched, unimpressed, as the secretaries around her swooned at the mention of Napoleon Solo like he was the next James Bond. The fights between who got to approach him when were more vicious behind the scenes than Mr. Waverly would ever suspect. Gwen found it all nonsense.

Agent Kuryakin was more to her taste. Reserved, judgmental, polite to the women in a way that Solo could never match and loyal to a fault. Doubtfully he knew she existed.

"Hold, Mr. Solo" Gwen set down the microphone "Mr. Waverly, Agent Solo's on the line. Sounds important"

"Thank you, Ms. Rodgers"

Gwen nodded respectfully to the head of UNCLE, handing him the line. As far as she could determine, the only way to get Illya to notice her were either through Solo or Mr. Waverly. She'd been tempted to leave a note on his desk on several occasions—one of those secret admirer stunts and watch the bafflement fill his face. There'd be bragging rights if she ever did that. Illya was dead clever; nobody could fool him though Gwen suspected he was less knowledgeable about matters of the heart. Especially his own.

"The file…no, no…but the organization is trustworthy. We've had…dealings…" his hand tightened against the microphone suddenly, knuckles whitening. "I'll have it verified."

Gwen waited, hoping he'd ask for a file. She wanted an excuse to snag Illya's. No one would notice if she borrowed it long enough to have a look.

"And return contact when the situation changes." Mr. Waverly cut off the contact. "Ms. Rodgers, look up the file on the IMF—Impossible Mission Force—there should be one and bring it to my office."

"Yes, sir." Simmering with excitement, Gwen left to enter the records room. Going through the files, she searched out Agent Kuryakin's first, which she tucked protectively beneath her arm, then proceeded to find the assigned file.

"Mr. Waverly, the file you requested." She strode into the room. She saw him snap a file on his desk closed and fold his hands over it. There was something about that one that screamed suspicion. Perhaps when he left, she could sneak a look at it.

"And that one?" he had noticed the file she still held. He was sharp. "Whose is it?"

"Mr. Kuryakin's" she replied easily. "Medical wanted to verify some information in it. Something about not being up to par with health certification" she added for a bit of credibility.

His gaze was still fixed on her; eyes seeing right through her. He might know she was lying from the start. "I don't recall authorizing that. May I see it?"

"O-of course, sir" she handed it over. Sweat slickened her palms as she watched him confirming her allegations.

"Well it would indeed seem that Mr. Kuryakin has been lax on keeping his records up-to-date. Overdue for blood work, I see. Ah, just make sure to return the file as soon as Medical's done with it."

"Yes, Mr. Waverly." Gwen backed out and headed right for her desk to review the information before anyone else saw her with the file. Still musing on the file Mr. Waverly had been trying to hide.

MIMIMIMI

"This one?" A male profile came up on the screen. Average height, on the heavier side with a drooping mustache.

"Too large"

"Not handsome enough"

Another image. Dark, clean-shaven, shifty eyes.

"Maybe. That beard was definitely a fake. I've felt the real ones."

"I wouldn't know." Illya suppressed a yawn, resting his chin on his forearms. Hours of this with only the vague promise of coffee from Napoleon; lucky Napoleon who got to get the tour of headquarters. "Any others?"

The agent handling the visuals glared at him. He was clearly tired of this too. "The contact wasn't any of those?"

"Not those, nor the past two hundred"

Jane nodded to the computer. "Let's keep going. I'll know the one."

"We'll be through every man in the city before we find him. And if we don't, we'll start covering the surrounding cities _and _states." The agent rubbed his eyes. "This might not work."

"We knew that before we wasted four…four and a half hours on this," said Illya.

"Then what do you suggest?" said Jane, annoyance creeping into her voice. "If you have a better idea, say it."

"One of our organizations or both has to have some file on this agent. We track _that_ down. If we go at this any longer, THRUSH will be too far ahead of us. I will check with my own organization. Tomorrow."

MIMIMIMI

Illya staggered into the room, making for the nearest bed. He managed to force off shoes, jacket and gun belt before collapsing on the bed and sinking into sleep…

"Illya, Illya" the unwelcome voice of his partner penetrated his dreams, pushing past that veil of blissful sleep. Giving the Russian a shake to emphasize his insistence.

The exhausted spy moaned, flinging an arm over his eyes and blindly striking out at his opponent with the other. "Not now" he grumbled.

"It can't wait."

"It can." He rolled over in the other direction.

"Well I'm sorry to wake you up, but you'll want to hear this."

Illya buried himself under the covers, wishing he had been granted his own room. No Napoleon…no hated waking hours…no…

He swore in Russian when Napoleon shoved him out of the bed and he landed hard on the floor. "That was not necessary."

Napoleon smirked, realized his mistake and fought to keep his expression neutral. He backed up several paces, hands raised in submission as Illya rose.

"You better have a very, very good reason for this," he said with a glare.

"Let's suppose there was another agent who was familiar with THRUSH"

"Once in a lifetime ago, most everybody knew THRUSH in one way or another" Illya folded his arms "and we were at the front of that line. Your point?"

"Suppose an agent here knew about it and with a bit of friendly persuasion…oh I don't know…he might recall the location of the base, some names…"

"Who? Ethan?" Illya loosed his defensive position. "No wait." He frowned. "Brandt?"

Napoleon gave a nod. "He has an unusual fascination with the organization. While you were off trying to nail our informant down, Brandt gave me the tour and, unintentionally, valuable information about himself. I'd almost say…he was one of them."

"A wild assumption even for you. You only met the agent a day ago and you already are making assertions about him? Which file—the one here or in THRUSH central?" he said cynically. "I'm all for risking my life to break in to a deathtrap just to satisfy your suspicions."

"I was serious, tovarich."

Illya heard the accusation in those words and eased off, returning to the bed and closing his eyes. "You cannot be sure the file here will have everything or that we would have any chance of accessing it. The rest of the team wouldn't know?" he fell silent, fighting sleep as he considered the possibilities. "Very well, the file it is. Or will you even bother asking first? You always want me to do the difficult parts. Napoleon? Napoleon!" he looked over to see his partner lounged on the other bed fast asleep with a classic Solo-esque grin on his face.

"Typical. Wake me up with suspicions and leave me to do the planning," grumbled Illya to himself as he tried once more for sleep.

MIMIMIMI

_His arms had been wrenched behind his back, tendrils of taunt cords cutting into his wrists. Cutting deeper the more he pulled. The room was small, a completely empty sterile prison. _

"_Trespassing through restricted areas, why?" the agent demanded. "What were you looking for? What organization sent you? Who sent you?" _

_He murmured an incoherent retort that fell deaf on his own ears. He could barely keep focused…_

_He saw the glint of an interrogation needle and turned his head away, tensing against the prick in his arm. Mind fogging, he struggled to remember the mental defenses he'd been taught._

"_You aren't turning me into a defect," he spat. _

_A crack on the head with the butt of a gun. "Once more, Agent Brandt, who are you working with?" _

_He sees them readying another hypodermic. When he sneers in reply, the interrogator nods and the needle is plunged into his arm again. _

_A fire burns in his veins…mind is numbing…has he told them anything? He moves and it stirs up old pains. Dimly, he's aware they're inflicting more on him…a nightmare of agony he can barely feel anymore. The only things he can hear are the screams of a desperate man…his._

With a start, Brandt awoke. _It was too real…_ he rubbed his eyes, seeking to erase the kaleidoscope of images that still burned from his dream. The phantom pain that still lingered. It hadn't just been a dream. Hands trembling, Brandt shoved the sweat-drenched sheets off; he held up his arm to examine it, expecting to see the marks of needles. Nothing. For several minutes, he stared into the darkness of his room still fighting off the surge of adrenalin, holding the mental images in his mind and turning them over and over, until they became too hurtful to dwell on any longer. He pushed himself up, moving to the adjoining facilities to douse his face in ice-cold water. Haunted eyes stared at him from the mirror.

_Why this? Who am I? _He snagged a shirt and padded barefoot down to central. _Might as well get work done since I got all the sleep I'm gonna get. _

The computers were idling—he took a station and keyed in his passkey. He had the urge of needing to be somewhere else, but he couldn't point out where. _Where else should I be? This is my organization. There aren't any others… at least, I thought… _A current assignment file came up but he only stared blankly at the tiny lettering.

_THRUSH. That's where it started. The memories, everything I can't remember. _

"_Who are you working with?" _he remembers the questioning, ponders over it. _Who was I working for before? How much longer can I keep this from the others before I become a liability? Or…_ giving up, he closed the open file and instead began a search for THRUSH. Only one thing stood out in his memories, one thing he could still remember.

Being in New York.


	5. When little thrushes come to play

**Thanks to MLaw and Unknown-Bliss for their encouragement in form of reviews. They really meant a lot to me. **

**Chapter Four**

"_When little thrushes come to play"_

Ethan poured over the case notes, brows furrowing, taking another sip of coffee. By all rights, the whole affair should be done and over with if he didn't wind up with that two-timing contact that was difficult as heck. _Thanks to those UNCLE agents, the contact had to panic and break the deal. This had better not go on my record. _With a sigh of frustration, he gave up. _How am I supposed to work this out now? _He wanted to shred the file while cursing unreliable contacts and lack of information.

"Rough night?" Benji wandered over, laptop tucked under one arm. He looked sympathetic.

"We should've concluded this exchange two days ago. I thought we'd have something by now, but we've hit a dead end. This is why you think twice about involving other organizations."

"I might have something."

Ethan did a double take. "You _might_? Yes or no and it had better be yes or else you're off this team."

"Then you'd better find a darned good agent to replace me" Benji retorted. "And seeing that I just saved you a lot of embarrassment with the IMF…"

"Spit it out"

"Alright, so you know how all we had on our contact were a few disposable email addresses? Well. I thought I'd try them out and one of them actually went through. I told him we'd double the offer. Between the IMF and this UNCLE, we should meet a good financial trade quota."

"And?"

Benji grinned. "And it got his attention. The contact is still willing to negotiate. He claims the lack of funds were the reason he declined to make contact."

"So the agent in the bar was a decoy?" Ethan mused. "He really isn't taking chances. So if money's his issue, how much is he wanting now?"

Benji slapped down a print-out displaying the contact's reply with a double underlined ten digit number. "We weren't supplying his needs apparently. That's almost four times what we originally offered."

"You think?" There'd been nothing before, for longer than he'd have liked, so now Ethan could only shake his head at this rapid accumulation of information. _About now, I'll agree to anything the contact wants. _"He say where we're doing the exchange?"

Benji pointed to an address on the page. New York. "How soon can we make a flight? Of course that's assuming we'll have the money when he wants it all up front in cash or else he says don't bother."

"Of course we'll have the money." Ethan finished his coffee and started for the door. "We're pulling through on this exchange this time."

MIMIMIMI

The flight hadn't been hard to catch. Thank all the wise directors of the IMF who had granted their agents with an abundance of transportation funds or else it would've gotten complicated. Six last-minute single-way tickets proved a costly venture, but at least the plane was relatively empty. Several other passengers—a young couple and child, a handful of teenagers who'd enjoyed Marde Gras far too much and a few men in business suits.

Ethan moved from his place near the rear of the plane and stole the empty seat beside the dark-haired UNCLE agent. "We'll have our part covered. And the arrival time gives us enough preparation time for you to scrounge up enough cash from your organization. Do that and we call it even on the information. Deal?"

"Fair enough" agreed Napoleon, focusing on the sports section. He'd had his nose buried in a copy of _The Wall Street Journal_ for half the flight. Ethan was still trying to determine whether it was genuine interest or Napoleon Solo just being a damned good agent.

"Assuming Mr. Waverly is willing to provide the resources," mumbled Illya, still partially asleep. "He has been known to refuse ransom payments at risk of his agents' lives…"

Napoleon gave his partner a sharp nudge that made the Russian grunt in protest. "Now, now, _tovarich,_ you wouldn't want such negative accusations to reach him, would you?"

"Even if they are true?"

"Even if" said Napoleon in forced solemnly. "I'd shudder at his punishments. Mr. Waverly never takes that sort of things well, you know." He lowered the paper to catch Ethan's gaze. "We'll have the money. If we have to call in a thousand favors and sign away our salaries for the next two years, we'll have it."

"There's also the actual exchange to finalize. Our contact is going to get trigger-happy or worse bail out again if we send too many agents in."

"One of us, one of you?" Napoleon said. "The rest of us will hold cover outside, if we can't get another one in the building."

"Fifty-fifty is good with my team. Which one?"

"Illya goes in" Napoleon jerked his head towards his partner. "He's the sneaky one."

"Your vote of confidence is encouraging as long as there are no unpleasant means of disguise this time," said Illya. "I have not forgiven you for that."

"You're spared." He was on verge of saying more to Ethan but stopped. "Uh, speaking of which, what _did _you do with…"

Illya's response was a quirk of the lips, a smirk. "Really, Napoleon, aren't there more important matters at hand?" His expression grew more pernicious as Napoleon's betrayed hints of fear.

"I don't like that look."

Chuckling, Ethan moved back to sit with his own agents.

MIMIMIMI

Brandt bent over the map of New York City, studying the location where the exchange was to take place, tracing streets and murmuring the names under his breath. He could almost see the sidewalk, the building whose doors he had entered a hundred times…

_Is that the answer? The place I can't remember? There was…_ he frowned, diverting his focus out the window as he thought. _Several stories, an elevator…only going to the right floor with a key…getting past security. _

"Hey" he heard the team leader retake the seat next to him and, from his peripheral vision, saw the map pulled away. "Keeping it together?"

"Fine, Ethan" he felt the other agent watching him.

"I know something's going on with you." Before he could make a reply, Ethan went on; "You don't have to tell me what, but I want your guarantee that it won't jeopardize the mission."

_The mission comes first_ he recalled that drilled into him from training. _Personal vendettas and fears should be contained. Watch out for your fellow agents. No unnecessary killings, no pulling risks without weighing the consequences_. He mentally recited the list.

"I have it under control."

"Good"

Brandt looked over to see Ethan's attention drawn to the map. "I want to be the agent going in." He'd been thinking about it for a good portion of the flight ever since Ethan had established "only two agents" for the exchange. _Even from a practical standpoint, I've got a good chance. Benji's better behind the scenes and Jane makes a good backup agent. _And he tried not to let the semi-frequent compliments on his skills go to his head too much.

"Is it personal?" his fellow agent looked up to fix a steady, searching gaze on him.

"Yeah" In the end, there was nothing to gain from denying it; he'd only hurt the rest of his team. "But I can get the mission done"

Ethan said nothing for several seconds. Then he folded up the map before offering it back to Brandt, accompanying the gesture with an easygoing grin. "You're in."

MIMIMIMI

Two of the black-suited men exited the plane after them and kept a disturbingly consistent distance behind the team. "Spread out" hissed Ethan. He and Jane going one direction, Illya in another and Benji lagging behind. Napoleon noticed another foreign agent that stood on the sideline, saw Brandt go after him. The American agent strode a bit faster, suitcase swaying jerkily in his hand. He passed by another suited figure that watched him in a manner that clearly showed he wasn't trying to look.

THRUSH

Napoleon slowed purposely, ignoring thoughts of following Brandt, casting a covert glance behind him. Yes, definitely following. He had to take care of this bunch.

One agent appeared right in front, half-concealing a pistol behind his jacket. "Your ride is this way, Mr. Solo."

Napoleon smiled good-naturedly. "Well when you put it that way…" he said holding out his suitcase before yanking it upward to throw off the agent's aim. The gun fired—bolt going into the ceiling and in that second of distraction, Napoleon went for the weapon. Seizing the hand that held it, he tugged downward; he brought his elbow up to jab the THRUSH agent in the gut to double him over and administered a sharp jab in the neck to down him. He spun around, ducking under the similar attack from the two opponents still behind him. Napoleon socked one in the jaw with a hard muster that sent the agent reeling; grunted when the remaining agent caught him in the face with a meaty fist. Another plummet and Napoleon saw stars.

He sucked in his breath, slammed into his opponent as hard as he could. The agent fell, but sprang right back up swinging for another punch. Napoleon dodged it. Someone snagged his arms from behind; he fought, trying to jab elbows into his opponent, was just about to flip the THRUSH agent over his shoulder when there was a crack to the back of his head.

MIMIMIMIMI

Brandt pursued the agent—whom he recognized from the plane—through the terminal, shoving through crowds of travelers with muttered apologies. His quarry had to make contact with his organization sometime, didn't he?

The agent didn't stop, had to know he was being followed. But then, no reason, he slowed speed and ducked into a side hallway.

Brandt followed, drawing his gun and proceeded with caution only to find the agent passively waiting for him. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed. And was that recognition in his face? "So you're the one on this detail, Agent Brandt. I'd be careful where you poke around. You're making the boss angry."

Brandt lowered his weapon and tried to place this man who appeared to know him.

"Guess he'd hoped you'd gone underground after what happened instead of hooking up with another organization."

"Aren't we on different sides?"

A shade of regret passed across the agent's face. "I suppose you wouldn't remember after the decommissioning process. I was hoping…well, it's not important."

Brandt stared at the agent, hurting his memory to remember. "So you're not one of the guys I should be worried about."

"Now? No. I'd like to help you out, Brandt. For old times' sake," He paused a minute. "Maybe you'll remember one day, maybe you won't…here…" he pulled an ID from his pocket and handed it over. "They were going to destroy it but someone owed me a favor and I pulled it. It'll get you in."

He took the card, ran his thumb over the THRUSH symbol next to his name. Nodded in appreciation. "As far as our organizations know, this conversation never happened."

"If there were better circumstances, we could talk more. You have question; I have answers."

He wanted nothing more than to know, to piece together his lost past but the mission came first. If he happened to discover anything during it, well, all the better for him as long as nothing hurt his team. And his partner.

"I'll be around." The agent gave a small smile, clasped Brandt on the arm a second before turning away to the terminal.

_Wait. He knows. _He turned, the questions poised ready to be asked, but the THRUSH agent had already vanished into the crowd. The ID card he now possessed may have answered some of his questions, confirmed suspicions, but it couldn't be everything.

MIMIMIMIMI

A few slaps to his face brought him back to reality bringing with it a dull ache where the THRUSH agent had left his mark.

"Looks like you had a run-in with the THRUSH welcoming committee" said Illya, hauling his partner upright. "Good thing you didn't volunteer yourself for the exchange. I suggest headquarters."

"Reserve, at least" argued Napoleon, unable to suppress a groan as he felt the back of his head. "I'm not letting you off alone again after what happened last time."

"You're better off…oh why bother. You never listen to me anyway." Illya gave him a hand up and it was the first time Napoleon noticed his partner's clothes were likewise in disarray.

"Found you too?"

"I did, but they did not get the privilege of knocking me out cold as they did you. One more reason for you not to run off alone again."

Napoleon glared. "Yes, mother"

MIMIMIMIMI

"They knew we were coming." Jane snapped a new cartridge into her pistol and looked around for more of the enemy agents. "I'm trying not to think why."

Betrayal by their own agents, an infiltrator, how long they'd been followed without paying attention. None of them had to say any of the possibilities outloud; they were all thinking them.

"None of our agents are traitors." Ethan was irritated that the subject had even arisen. _If we haven't got trust in each other, the team's compromised and we've as good as lost already. _

Benji shifted uneasily, a hasty glance at the team leader. "I'll, uh, go get a cab."

"You have to face it, Ethan. I know you don't like thinking about disloyalty in the team after the incident with Agent Phelps, but it's always a chance we risk." Jane's voice hardened. "Those UNCLE agents, you're ready to trust the success of this mission with one of them when you don't know their motivations? And I know you doubt Agent Brandt—you always have."

"Right now I trust him a hell of a lot more than you," Ethan shot back, anger rising. "I'd know if one of them was compromised. I'd recognize the signs."

"You've gotten too personal with your team. Remember that from training? We're told _not_ to do that and you're putting this entire mission at risk while you ignore the signs."

_I'm not going through that again. I'm not letting betrayal break us up. Heck I care if we've become more than teammates. That's what it takes in this field—in _this_ team. _

"Pull out Agent Brandt, cut the deal with the UNCLE agents and leave it to just the three of us," Jane continued, beginning to head for the exit. "You know what you have to do."

"You aren't team leader here, Jane."

"Maybe…maybe…" her voice was shaking; she almost dropped her carryon.

_Maybe you think you should be? _He reached over to jerk the luggage from her hand. "You're the one who's become compromised, Agent Carter." He was sorry it had come to this. Jane was one of the best, but they couldn't stand strained loyalty in the team. Not now. "As of now, you're off the mission. You accompany us as a civilian, nothing more."

"You can't do that," she argued, snatching back her carryon. "Ethan, you need me on this."

He stopped walking, staring hard at her. "You want to fight orders? Take it up with the IMF director. He'll just agree with me." He held out his hand in unspoken order.

Simmering with rage, Jane slapped her gun into his palm. "When the others hear about this…"

"If you fight me on this anymore, you'll be right back on a plane to headquarters."


	6. Acting the Part

**Long overdue. I really do mean to finish this story. **

**Chapter Five**

_Acting the Part_

Jane sulked the entire ride, throwing occasional glares out the window. She didn't need to be caught with additional evidence against her—even if Ethan was wrong to begin with. Some, if not all, would be included in their final report.

_His fault, his missights. A civilian?! _ _Trust Ethan to give me the worst break in my entire career and all over his lack of ability to see what's right in front of him. _

"What happened between you two?" Benji saw it. He was a good agent, but not bold enough to go against his team leader. Jane would have better luck convincing the UNCLE agents to support her than her own team.

Ethan caught her eye. "Part of the team, Jane. He needs to know."

_You already knew he'd take your side. A compromised agent could be right in front of you and you're too tied with friendships and owing favors. Should've been Hanaway on this dispatch…_ she diverted her attention out the window again when she felt remnants of grief emerge.

"Jane's a liability" was all Ethan said. "Trust issues."

And what else was her reaction meant to be? Brandt had never been one of them from the first encounter and his recent behavior only screamed it out all the clearer to her. If she was in charge, he'd gone already.

The cab pulled to a stop below a business skyscraper.

"Bring up those blueprints," Ethan muttered to Benji as they exited. He paid the fare, wished the driver a good day then headed into the target. The jaws of the beast or so it was.

Jane trailed behind. How did Ethan expect them to get in _and out_ without her help? It could've been a cover of secretary, cleaning lady…something. She took note of her surroundings—the locations of exits, how many guards, location of security, all the people who'd have guns; she was trained for this. She _wasn't_ compromised. Voicing doubts about one agent and two outsiders was basis for disloyalty?

On entering the closest elevator, Ethan pointed to an ID scanner below the keypad. "Got any of those THRUSH cards?"

Benji handed one over to the team leader who swiped it beneath the scanner. The elevator began to move.

"Here, these" he handed them two of the spare THRUSH IDs and fastened another to his own shirt. "Hopefully today isn't too crowded."

Jane watched the floor numbers increase. "How do you expect me to hold your back if I haven't got a gun?"

"Nice try. Benji can pull backup and run the tech"

Benji blinked. "I can?"

"Ethan…"

"We're done discussing this, Jane." Ethan pulled out his gun to check the rounds left in it. "You make note of _everything_ you see—Brandt and Illya are going to need it later."

"Um, Ethan, it couldn't hurt…"

"And when we're caught under a firefight, backed against a wall…then I tell you _I told you so_."

"Fair enough"

Benji looked to them both a second or two before turning back to the doors and muttering half to himself, "Oh _of course_, 'let's make Benji do everything'."

* * *

As far, Gwen had been unable to locate the file. It was purposely hidden away whenever he left his office, making her wonder what was so special about it. She had gone so far as to search records to determine what was missing.

Nothing.

And still, whenever she found him in his office the file would inevitably be there on his desk. He made no further efforts to conceal it.

"Mr. Waverly…" she was on verge of asking about it. Then she saw his face drawn in sorrow.

"Yes, Ms. Rodgers"

"I-I'll be going now," she said lamely, ducking out.

* * *

Brandt watched the UNCLE agents fasten the badges to their pockets, copying their actions with the green guest badge he was given. The secretary watched him, but was professional enough not to comment—Brandt wondered just how often she had seen these agents bring accomplices home with them. Fortunately, once Napoleon struck up small conversation with her, she lost interest in him and he was left to head down the halls alone. Around him the agents bustled here and there, files in their hands—so many passages and doors that he gave up counting. Were they all offices? And how many agents? _I wonder if they're ever involved with the IMF—can't possibly have both these organizations unaware the other exists. And why do they only come together now? _He found himself arrive at an office near the end of the corridor where an older man was standing at a window musing as he puffed on a pipe.

When you'd been long enough in an organization, especially near the top and constantly in contact with the leaders, you often came to notice another organizational leader when you saw one. This had to be the man of UNCLE.

Brandt cleared his throat. "Sir"

The man turned, startled. Stared for an instant as though he was seeing a ghost.

The IMF agent shifted, tugging at the guest badge, hoping this was not the prelude to a call on security. "Agent William Brandt with the IMF," he said by way of introduction, holding out his hand. "Your agents Solo and Kuryakin…"

"Of course" he took the hand offered. "I was reading the file. You're quite the agent among your own."

"You found out about us already?" Brandt was unable to hold back a short laugh "I don't think the IMF has ever _heard_ of your organization until now while you've got us documented and everything?"

The man shifted his pipe. "You'll find we're quite thorough here, Mr. Brandt. I like to keep tabs on my agents and the strays they bring back. Although it is refreshing to see that it isn't another damsel in distress that Mr. Solo has found. Have a seat." He waited until Brandt had taken the chair on the left before continuing. "Shall we proceed with the negotiations?"

"I'm not really in the position to bargain. The one you want is Agent Hunt…"

"Delivery at 10 a.m. tomorrow, sir," said Illya, handing over a sheet for certification. He cast a side-glance at Brandt as though in admonishment that the agent should really have waited for them and not gone wandering.

Napoleon eased forward. "Mr. Waverly…Illya and I…" he caught his partner's raised brow and coughed. "I mean, _I _went ahead and made an executive decision concerning the case."

Mr. Waverly chuckled. "And did this have anything to do with the fact that Mr. Kuryakin has the means to blackmail you?"

"Besides the point, sir," said Napoleon with a grimace. "I told them we'd cover half the payment."

"And we're perfectly willing to share all the intel," said Brandt, electing it wise to play their game.

Waverly puffed his pipe some more, gaze going from his agents to Brandt. "You do realize, gentlemen, that the money will come out of the agent ransom fund."

Illya stared a moment. "I was not aware we had one."

Napoleon laughed then stopped midway. "You're serious."

"And I suppose this only comes into effect _after_ it was needed. This money was not around when I was being threatened. Yes?"

"Still sore about the Greek business, Mr. Kuryakin?"

"That is one way to put it, yes."

"The money shouldn't be an issue. What of the meeting itself?"

"Brandt and Illya are going in. The rest of us will serve as backup," reported Napoleon. "We aren't expecting trouble…per se…but it THRUSH had gotten involved…" his gaze unintentionally flirted to Brandt in a move that wasn't missed by Waverly.

"One mission, just _one_ mission where THRUSH _isn't_ involved," said Illya in annoyance.

Waverly pushed a pocket radio across the desk to Brandt. "You'll need this to keep in touch. Mr. Kuryakin will show you how. I need a word with Mr. Solo."

Brandt stood, shook Mr. Waverly's hand once more and thanked him for his cooperation before leaving, Illya not far behind.

_Way to go, agent. Botch your first meeting with the man and watch him call you out on it later. _He knew he should've waited for the other agents to introduce him, not barge into the office himself. And he had the IMF on file already! Brandt wondered if there was time to call records just to see if the IMF held a similar file. Why else would Waverly know all about them already?

_Someone once said, at the base, all these international organizations are linked already and only pretend not to recognize each other when they bump into one another. The IMF might be playing that game, but he isn't. _


End file.
